<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Good luck bad luck schmuck by Espisayer</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29822658">Good luck bad luck schmuck</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espisayer/pseuds/Espisayer'>Espisayer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime &amp; Manga)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drunken Confessions, Drunken Flirting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No DSOD, Post-Canon, Walk Into A Bar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:08:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,387</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29822658</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espisayer/pseuds/Espisayer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jounouchi has a bad day, some bad alcohol, and a bad idea. He meets a hot stranger at a bar. Cue scene.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler/Kaiba Seto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Good luck bad luck schmuck</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh, no, I’m good at this. Let me guess. Beer guy, right?”</p><p>“Hah! Beer. That’s funny. No, listen―” His elbows dropped down onto the counter and he pressed forward, “I already <em> had </em>a few beers. They don’t do nothin’ for me. Or my night. I want to forget tonight happened, if you catch my drift.”</p><p>The bartender looked him up and down. “You struck out… and you wanna get lucky.”</p><p>“Well―”</p><p>Luck. Luck was a funny thing, wasn’t it? A fickle, intangible, subjective thing. Paradoxical, really. Or maybe that was just Jounouchi’s life.</p><p>Did having several near-death experiences count as good or bad luck?</p><p>Perpetual but consistent runner-up placements in tournaments?</p><p>Having an embarrassingly bad crush on a guy you had no chance with but because you had no chance it never presented itself as a problem and nobody ever found out?</p><p>No, that one was definitely bad luck. It was time to let that one go. High school was over five years ago.</p><p>Okay, how about letting your brickhead best friend hook you up with some guy he met at work who couldn’t even bother to show up to a dive bar? Like… that all sounded like pretty bad luck, yeah, but Jounouchi wanted to think he dodged a bullet there. Right? That counted.</p><p>“Technically you’re not wrong,” Jounouchi grumbled, “but… I like to think I’m always lucky. It’s <em> pushing </em>my luck that gets me places.” And in trouble. “For now, though,” he drummed his hands on the counter, “drinks.”</p><p>“What <em> kind </em>of drinks?”</p><p>“I don’t know. Anything! Whatever will get me fucked up the fastest. Straight alcohol. Mouthwash. Spray paint. Surprise me.”</p><p>“One chloroform, coming up.”</p><p>“Now you’re talkin’.”</p><p>He could’ve stayed and suffered at the dive, but why stick around for the pity of the barkeeps who’d watched him sulk around for half an hour? At least between here and there, he’d managed to throw a bandage over his wounded pride. Sure, they’d charge him more for less in a place like this, but at least he could pretend he was spoiling for himself for having such a shitty day.</p><p>That was a stupid plan, though, Jounouchi acknowledged absently, as he caught himself glancing around the room and trying to guess who was a couple and who was alone, meandering aimlessly like he was. What he <em>should’ve </em>been doing was yelling at Honda and making him buy dinner to compensate. Or letting Anzu drag him out to a nightclub. Or calling Yugi and… well, Yugi was probably busy.</p><p>Actually, a lot of his old friends were busy now. Busy with… stuff. At least, it felt like Jounouchi had plenty of time to let his luck stand him up and wallow around until he realized he was contemplating (see: rationalize) his chances on either an arm-wrestling contest or a one-night-stand with that shrill, yakuza-looking dude three seats away.</p><p>“Did you actually put chloroform in this?” He squinted at his glass as if the clarity of the liquid would give him an answer. “I’m feelin’ kinda fuzzy for my second drink.”</p><p>“That’s probably because it’s your third drink,” the bartender quipped, rudely unimpressed. “Do I need to take that away from you?”</p><p>“No, no! I ain’t complaining. It’s good. Maybe too good. Scary good.” Scary wasn’t strictly a bad thing. Mr. Yakuza was scary. It was the shrillness that was a turn-off. On the other hand, the rumpled guy hunched over on the opposite side with the long legs was a turn-on.</p><p>Wow, he really <em> was </em> three drinks in, wasn’t he. Funny thing, that the little voice of reason muttering in the back of his head, <em> get a grip</em>, was starting to sound a lot like Anzu. Meanwhile, the alcohol fumes whispering up at him through his nostrils and into his brain, <em> why not</em>, provided a much more convincing argument.</p><p>He would take Anzu’s spiritual advice under consideration, though. No messing with the Yakuza dude.</p><p>“You’re not, like…” he licked his lips thoughtfully, “a witch or somethin’, are ya?” and then downed the rest of whatever concoction he’d been served.</p><p>The man eyed him again, and then his glass. “That’s your last one.”</p><p>“Stick in the mud.”</p><p>“Sorry, buddy.”</p><p>“I’m <em> fine</em>. I’m great. Really!”</p><p>Well, he was feeling better, anyway. Enough “better” for a last burst of brashness.</p><p>He pushed off the barstool and made a covert loop through the sea of people fluxing about and crowding up the dining area―all before seating himself directly next to Mr. Legs on the other end of the bar. Succeeding only in startling him enough to choke on his drink.</p><p>“Shit! Sorry!” Nice. Nice job, Jounouchi. Score. “You okay?”</p><p>The guy shook his head in a way that wasn’t really a clear yea or nay, so Jounouchi gave him a good pat on the back. Damn, but for a guy who looked like he was about to fall asleep two minutes ago, he was a stiff.</p><p>“I’m fine,” he croaked.</p><p>“You sure?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Only after an extended period of silence did Jounouchi realize his good nature had lingered too long and he reigned himself back in, folding his arms on the counter and trying desperately to look casual. This would probably be the time for someone to butt in and drag him away for his own good, wouldn’t it? But he was here by himself. So.</p><p>“What… are you doing?”</p><p>The wary question broke him out of his self-deprecatory haze and he anxiously started tapping his thumbs against the counter. “Uhh… Don’t know yet,” he admitted, and then angled his head to the side.</p><p>His hesitant acquaintance had taken to an awkward lean that prevented any eye contact, but allowed Jounouchi to get a better once-over. Lean, dressed in tailored slacks―yep, legs were still long―against an untucked button-up and a jacket that was maybe a size too big. Overworked salary guy? Hmm. Dull prospects wrapped in an interesting package.</p><p>Oh, well. He could do worse.</p><p>“How about you?”</p><p>Salary Guy replied at length, “Drinking?”</p><p>“Right.” But drinking for a party of one or waiting on someone? “How long you been here?”</p><p>“Long enough. Before you showed up.”</p><p>He said it with a huff, but Jounouchi could ignore the little bout of testiness and let himself split into a grin. “Oh, yeah? So you noticed me!”</p><p>“I…” The guy stalled, just long enough for Jounouchi to thoroughly enjoy it. “You’re impossible to <em> miss</em>.”</p><p>Maybe it was just the alcohol, maybe that wasn’t meant as a compliment, but he was taking it as one. It summoned some old butterflies. It counted. “Well, thanks.”</p><p>“Thanks?”</p><p>“Haven’t heard that in a while.”</p><p>“I find that hard to believe.”</p><p>“Hah.” He smiled wryly. “That an insult or a compliment?”</p><p>“Take your pick,” Salary Guy said, a low, pleasant drone that reached deep into Jounouchi’s gut and fed the butterfly nest. He completely spaced off whatever exchange with the bartender led to a refill, but the point stood―if he was planning on getting up and leaving he wouldn’t have done that. Right?</p><p>“So…” To test his theory, Jounouchi sidled just a bit closer. Their arms brushed. “Are you here with anyone?”</p><p>He stiffened at the contact, fingers twitching around his glass, but didn’t shuffle away. Yet. He stalled at the question, though. “Why would I be?”</p><p>Finally, he cast a cagey glance in Jounouchi’s direction: with dark eyes sharp enough to stab right through the rib cage, and tight, pursed lips projecting a bewildered look that was punctuated with a crinkle between his eyebrows. Jounouchi wanted to smooth it out. Or punch him in the face. His stupid face that had absolutely no reason to be that attractive. It almost made him angry.</p><p>Instead, the butterflies swarmed up from his stomach and clogged his mouth and he worked against a dry throat, blurting, “What about plans to go home with somebody?”</p><p>If Salary Guy noticed his voice clutched, he didn’t say anything―he blinked, once, reeling quietly as he tried to work a word out of his mouth in slow motion. “What…” And then his attention snapped back in a sudden flush. Jounouchi might’ve missed it in the dim bar light if they weren’t sitting so close. It was almost endearing, if he hadn’t said―“Do you make a habit of picking up strangers at bars?”</p><p>Jounouchi chewed on his gums. “No. Not usually.” Not unless he was already in a sorry state. He didn’t need the kick in the balls. But then, he’d already gotten this far. He slapped on a winning smile and nudged the prickly guy’s arm, figuring he might as well let the balloon pop instead of just deflating all over the floor. “But I can make an exception?”</p><p>Throwing in a wink for good measure and maybe at the cost of his own dignity, he did enjoy the frustrated fluster for his trouble. The eyes snapping shut, accompanied by a tight sigh as he turned away signaled Jounouchi’s defeat, though.</p><p>“Alright, I’m going.”</p><p>Bubble popped, but he was deflating, anyway. He tried to speed up the process by swinging around in his seat, but his feet smacked into the stool on his other side.</p><p>Salary Guy had grabbed his upper arm and yanked him back. “Sit,” he said, and Jounouchi blinked rapidly in confusion as his head finished revolving, “eat something.” </p><p>A bowl pushed toward his side of the counter. It took him a second to recognize it as tortilla chips. Well, he was drunk, wasn’t he. And a stranger was taking pity on him.</p><p>If he was sober, it could’ve made him angry. If he was drunker, he could’ve made a dirty joke. As it was, Jounouchi was just trying not to sulk too much while he tried to tell himself things could be a lot worse. He stuffed his face full of chips to make sure when he chomped down it was obnoxiously loud.</p><p>No one said anything. The bartender threw a look at him. He ignored it.</p><p>“If this isn’t normal for you,” Salary Guy said after a lull, “then why are you here?”</p><p>Jounouchi shrugged and licked the salt off his lips. “Bad day.”</p><p>“…Meaning?”</p><p>He crunched the next handful of chips in a fist and then watched it crumble into the bowl. “Got stood up.”</p><p>“You had a date.”</p><p>“Yup.” He flicked the salt off his fingers. “Usually the first step before you get ghosted.”</p><p>“So?”</p><p> Jounouchi turned to find Salary Guy scrutinizing him. He pursed his lips in indignance. “So, what?”</p><p>“So―did this date mean so much that you have to feel sorry for yourself and latch onto the next person you see?”</p><p>“No!” The fuck was this guy's problem? “It’s not like that! I just―this shit always happens to me.” Fuck. Fuck it. If this guy wanted to be an asshole <em> and </em>take pity on him, he was going to regret it. “Since you’re still here, I guess you want to hear all about it? No? Good.”</p><p>Salary Guy raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. It was a peculiar thing that drew Jounouchi to notice how his bangs were swept to the other side of his face, without being too smooth―just messy enough to seem deliberate. And that pissed him off a little bit. He had a childish impulse to ruin it.</p><p>“Well?”</p><p>Jounouchi realized he was staring again. He started a bit, repeating, “Well?”</p><p>“Get on with it, then.”</p><p>He sputtered. “You―Fine. Okay, why don't you tell me, who shit in the dating pool in Domino, huh? It’s not like I got high standards.” Salary Guy opened his mouth, but like a sixth sense for snarky quips Jounouchi snapped, “Don’t even! I’m not even really looking for a <em> date</em>. I mean… I’m not really a big fan of one-night hookups, either, but long term never works out for me.” He hunched forward and crumbled another chip. “Longest relationship I ever had was like, three or six months. Right out of high school. This girl, she was…  kinda… perfect? But in a really boring way. God, I got so <em> bored</em>. I started making up excuses to avoid her.”</p><p>“Yes, poor you,” Salary guy droned after a long drink and a longer skeptical look. “Commitment issues are such an attractive quality.”</p><p>“Fuck, keep it canned until I’m done, at least. That wasn’t the problem! I was just… I dunno. I thought I was gonna be responsible an’ shit. Everybody says you you need <em> stability</em>… or somethin’ like that. Guess I shoulda known better.” Damn, he was really just gonna do this. He wanted another drink. “That was after this asshole in high school,” he started picking at a hole in his sleeve, “but I don’t think you could really call it dating. We ‘saw’ each other for like… two months. Except he liked to pretend he didn’t know me if anybody was around. I got sick of it and popped him in the hallway.”</p><p>Salary Guy didn’t say anything this time, but Jounouchi almost wished he would have. He was definitely talking too much. But it was too late to change course.</p><p>“Almost got expelled. It was worth it, though,” he said as an afterthought, and then let his shoulders slump with a sigh. “Man, high school sucked sometimes. But sometimes it <em> sucked</em>. You know? Like… I made my best friends there, but―but a lot of stuff happened. You wouldn’t believe me. But then―<em>then </em> , there was this <em> other </em> asshole. The <em> king </em> of the assholes, fucking bane of my existence―and I spent all three years crushing on him like king of the dumbasses and he wouldn’t notice if I bit him in the ass!” He slammed his palms on the counter because it still got under his fucking skin. Salary Guy coughed. The bartender shot him another look he ignored. “Is that good luck or bad luck? I can’t figure it out!”</p><p>“Are you asking me?” his companion said hoarsely.</p><p>“Yeah!” he said too loudly and wound himself back down. “Sort of. I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m saying anymore…” He paused. “You―”</p><p>“I’m fine.” He swatted Jounouchi’s hand away without looking at him. “And I don’t believe in luck.”</p><p>“What? How do you not believe in <em> luck?”</em></p><p>“I mean I don’t believe in it as a concept to measure your life experiences.”</p><p>Jounouchi pursed his lips. His thoughts spun in circles unhelpfully. “Drunk,” he said. “Too many words.”</p><p>“You seemed to be babbling just fine ten seconds ago.”</p><p>“Yeah, well…” He didn’t have an answer for that. Maybe he was deflating, after all. “I guess… I just… If it’s not luck, then it’s just me.” He shrugged. “I peaked in high school.”</p><p>“Tch. You did not.”</p><p>“Maybe I did.” He wondered what Salary Guy’s drink of choice was. Probably something bland. Still alcohol, though. “Shit, that’s depressing. If I knew it was gonna be downhill from there, I woulda took the leap an’ kissed him. I had a chance, once.” He grabbed his glass―</p><p>“What?” Salary Guy recoiled. “<em>When? </em>” </p><p>“Wh―” Jounouchi stalled. “What?”</p><p>Salary Guy snatched the drink back. “Nothing.” It sloshed onto his arm and the counter and it was set aside. “You’re living in the past and it’s not doing you any favors. What does that have to do with your string of bad luck <em> now</em>?”</p><p>“Where do you get off?” Jounouchi pulled a sour face and wiped his hand on his jacket. “And I thought you <em> didn’t believe </em>in luck.”</p><p>“By your own terms,” he scoffed. “Do you really think you keep finding losers because you have bad luck? You’re sabotaging yourself. Get better standards.”</p><p>Oh, he was about to raise his standards. Square in the jaw. “You know,” he said, “I’m probably too drunk to get into a bar fight right now, but you’re not too hot to get punched in the face.”</p><p>“Wh―”</p><p>“What the fuck would you know, anyway? You’re not <em> better </em>than me―I mean, you’re sitting here listening to my bullshit, you’re at a bar, too, by yourself! Is your life that boring?”</p><p>Salary Guy sighed dramatically through his nose, “I’m not―”</p><p>“You know what your problem is? You need to get laid.”</p><p>“I certainly don’t,” he snapped, straightening cutting him with a scowl. “<em>My </em> problem is that it apparently takes my brother tricking me into a bet to get me out of the house―and then I run into <em> you</em>.”</p><p>“So I was right!” Jounouchi slammed his fist on the counter in triumph.</p><p>He felt like he was missing a beat of the story, though. Was he <em> that </em>drunk or was he getting scammed here? </p><p>Almost absently, he drummed his fingers on the counter. “What bet?”</p><p>“On whether or not I could go out in public for a day without being recognized.” Salary Guy stared him down and Jounouchi stared back, but the brain wires weren’t firing if he was supposed to get something here. A heavy sigh broke the silence. “Apparently, I lose. And I’m never going to live it down.”</p><p>Jounouchi felt like he was going cross-eyed while Salary Guy took his last drink. He had missed a beat, yeah, and the entire song apparently. And Salary Guy continued to glower at him, with his rib-stabbing eyes.</p><p>“What? <em> What? </em>Am I supposed to―”</p><p>“Jounouchi, please tell me you’re not this stupid.”</p><p>“I’m―How did you―”</p><p>Oh.</p><p>
  <em> Oh. </em>
</p><p>On, no.</p><p>On no―<em>was </em>he this stupid?</p><p>
  <em> No, no, no. </em>
</p><p>“No,” Jounouchi croaked, scrambling for some purchase of words or thoughts that were coherent, “no, you can’t be Kaiba. Kaiba… Kaiba doesn’t… you… no.”</p><p>“<em>No? </em>What are you saying no to, my existence?” he said dryly, knotting his brows together and Jounouchi was again struck by them―and suddenly he knew why. “What exactly have you been drinking?”</p><p>Jounouchi sucked in a breath. “I can see your forehead.”</p><p>Kaiba―<em>Kaiba </em> ―rolled his eyes in a spectacular way that only <em> Kaiba </em>could and proceeded to wave down the bartender. Jounouchi didn’t hear whatever was said, lost in the spectacle, and without any forethought he’d reached forward to comb his bangs back into place.</p><p>There.</p><p>Oh, God.</p><p>
  <em> Kaiba. </em>
</p><p>Had he been Kaiba the whole time?</p><p>Kaiba’s eyes fluttered furiously at him and it probably went on a tad too long before he was swatted away. “You’re an idiot. Stop.” A light flush crept back into his cheeks about the same time Jounouchi felt his neck warm uncomfortably. A warm flush and a cold sweat.</p><p>Of course. Of course he was Kaiba, that was just the sort of thing that happened to him!</p><p>“But…” How, <em> how </em> could he have missed it? “That’s not fair!” It wasn’t his fault for being stupid! He <em> couldn’t </em> be this stupid. That just wasn’t <em> possible</em>. He felt it, though, like a ship sinking in his stomach. “You can’t just… do that! If I did that, there’s no way in hell you’d recognize me!”</p><p>“Yes, I would,” Kaiba snipped, a taut statement of fact and Jounouchi’s only reply was to continue sputtering. “This is absolute nonsense.” He turned away to lean an elbow on the bar, holding his cheek and scowling at the wall behind the counter. “It’s less than nonsense. It should be impossible.” Idly smoothing his hair back down, he complained, “I was sure, of all people, at least you would recognize me. Thanks for nothing.”</p><p>“I―”</p><p>Damn, if that didn’t sound like sulking. If he didn’t know Kaiba better than that. Or… maybe he did. What did he know anymore? Everything was a lie.</p><p>Still, Jounouchil felt compelled to point out, at the noble sacrifice of his pride, “I mean… I did walk up and hit on you…” He ducked his head and pretended to scratch a stain off the counter. What he wanted to do was drag his nails on something obnoxious just to share in his discomfort. “How technical is your bet? Maybe it’s a… unconscious thing…”</p><p>“Subconscious,” Kaiba said on automatic, and Jounouchi really wished he hadn’t said anything. Because that meant he was aware of it.</p><p>But another silence followed, and he hated that just as much.</p><p>He’d done much worse than just hit on Kaiba.</p><p>He’d spilled his guts all over the bar.</p><p>Where was the ambulance to cart him off before he had to suffer any longer? “Uhm…” His throat tightened on him, he cleared it. “Is there any chance we can―”</p><p>“Forget everything that just happened?”</p><p>“Y-Yeah. That.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“I’m not nearly drunk enough for that,” Kaiba said, and while Jounouchi stared down at his own lap he heard something being exchanged across the counter, “and despite your questionable mental faculties, I don’t think you are, either.”</p><p>“Uh… yeah.”</p><p>Was Kaiba drunk? If he was, it really wasn’t fair that he could form coherent sentences. It wasn’t fair that Jounouchi had never felt stupider in his life.</p><p>Someone patted him on the shoulder, coerced him into stepping off the barstool and providing weight when he totally should have stumbled onto his face. That wasn’t <em> really </em>Kaiba, right? Kaiba wouldn’t do that.</p><p>“Try to walk with <em> both </em>of your feet,” said a familiar drone, a touch lighter than normal. “I’ll drive you home if you can make it to the car.”</p><p>It wasn’t <em> fair</em>. It really wasn’t fair for him to be that attractive, that much of a jerk, and that… whatever he was doing now, all at the same time. And while he was stuck sulking, down on his luck, looking like an idiot.</p><p>“Why?” he grumbled, even though at this point he had no inclination to do anything but sidle alongside Kaiba as he pulled him out of the bar.</p><p>“Why am I not leaving you here to make a bigger fool out of yourself?”</p><p>“Yeah.” He bit the inside of his cheek. “Not like you don’t have enough material to torture me for the rest of my life.”</p><p>“Maybe,” Kaiba mused. Like this was a funny blip on his radar. “But a little extra insurance never hurts anything.”</p><p>“So you are gonna hold it over my head.”</p><p>“Of course I am,” he said, and Jounouchi groaned. “But we’d have to see each other more often for me to be able to torture you.”</p><p>“I hate you.”</p><p>Kaiba sighed―a tired sigh that deflated his shoulders, not the fun kind―and then Jounouchi was being chauffeured into the back seats of one of Kaiba’s nondescript cars. Until he spun around to argue some more. He just didn’t get it. “How do I know you’re not some kind of… Kaiba clone… experiment…” he waved his hand incoherently, “…thing? I mean―what did you do to your <em> eyes </em>?”</p><p>“My eyes?” he huffed. “You mean my <em> contacts</em>?”</p><p>“Yeah―whatever―they’re freaking me out a little. It ain’t right.”</p><p>Kaiba narrowed his eyes, the wrong color―dark, muddy, wrong―and Jounouchi could swear he was holding in another sigh, monumental, even. “The bartender should’ve cut you off earlier. Get in the car, Jounouchi.”</p><p>“Okay, but take the contacts out first.”</p><p>“Are you serious?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>His request was met by being pushed down into the back seat, head-first, which he complained about, loudly, though it had no effect on the outcome. He elbowed into Kaiba’s space in retaliation, despite the ample room in the back of the car that could probably fit four people.</p><p>Though Kaiba did make a compromise by taking out the contacts―a process unexpectedly quick enough that he missed it altogether, all until Kaiba shot him with a heart-stabbing cobalt blue glare and a snappy, “Happy now?”</p><p>And Jounouchi’s alcohol-addled brain still struggled to sync up the beginning of his night with what was happening now: brazenly flirting with a stiff, overworked, impossibly attractive salary worker, to being escorted in the back of Kaiba’s car with the one and only, always Kaiba no matter what he looked like or what he was wearing, high school enemy, present-day ghost―always Kaiba who would never give someone like him the time of day.</p><p>“No,” he sunk back into the leather seats that were almost too comfortable and definitely too warm, “not really.” He had the rest of the night to sulk about his bad day, and he was going to do it. Soon, hopefully, in the comfort of his own apartment.</p><p>He felt Kaiba staring at him and he sunk in a little further away.</p><p>“You’re not going to be sick, are you?”</p><p>“Not in the throw-up kind of way.”</p><p>Not yet, at least.</p><p>Silence persisted the rest of the way, and he wasn’t sure if he was grateful for it or not. But then the car stopped and he felt a little woozy, like he’d blinked and missed the entire ride. Vaguely aware of his apartment building blurring in his peripheral, he wobbled over to the passenger’s door to get out.</p><p>“Jounouchi. Wait.”</p><p>Already leaning on the roof of the car, Jounouchi half-turned to find Kaiba giving the door another breadth and crooking his finger. He leaned down in a quietly brimming curiosity without questioning it.</p><p>And Kaiba kissed him.</p><p>Barely. That is to say, it was such a light brush of lips that he’d almost convinced himself he’d been the one to do it by accident. And then it was over, in a moment, he didn’t even remember what Kaiba’s lips felt like, if he closed his eyes or even kissed back―he just suddenly felt a little warmer, a little woozier and confused, but like a feather.</p><p>“I meant what I said.” Kaiba hiked up the jacket sleeve falling off his shoulder, and then before he could recover, began to pull the door shut. Jounouchi wracked his brain, but couldn’t find anything but loose feathers floating around, “And don’t sulk. It doesn’t suit you.” </p><p>The feathers provided no insight to his out-of-body experience, and so he stood by idly as the car pulled away. After it disappeared, he ghosted a finger over his lips. He wondered about the odds of this whole night actually happening, against the odds of it being a drunken, hallucinatory dream.</p><p>Was that good luck or bad luck?</p><p>Maybe Kaiba was right. Maybe it didn’t matter.</p><p>He nearly convinced himself of this until he found Kaiba’s card in his jacket two weeks later.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Why did I struggle so much to wrap this up. I wrote the first half in a few days, that was a week and a half ago (」゜ロ゜)」</p><p>if you made it here thanks for reading tho</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>